Nightmares
by Katrina1
Summary: A string of horrible nightmares sends Scully and Mulder into a whirlwind situation where they uncover their love for each other


Nightmares  
  
  
  
Demons.   
Monsters.   
Voices, thick with menace, sounding moist and distorted in the dark warehouse.  
Sounds.  
Scraping, dragging, clanking far-off sounds that promised pain, suffering, torment.   
Light.   
Diffused, yet bright. Blinding if she looked at them.   
Fear. Clutching at her chest, her clothes, her hands. Every part of her bathed in it, swimming it. Stark terror.   
Gun.  
Where was her gun? She fumbled for it, finding nothing but an empty holster at the small of her back. She wanted to swear, but found that she could make no sound of her own. She was silent; mute.  
The voice, when it came, was far away, ethereal.  
Come to me, the voice said, but the words were drawn out, sleepy, inviting and repulsive at the same time.   
"Coooooome toooo meeeeeee" it said, like a ghost in a B-grade horror movie.  
And then the hand closed around her throat from behind.  
***  
Residence of Dana Scully   
Annapolis, Maryland   
Thursday, 0340 Hours   
  
Scully woke with a start, the bedsheets soaked in her own nightsweat. She glanced at the clock.   
3:49. Almost four in the morning. Rolling onto her back, Scully threw an arm across her forehead, wondering.   
How many? How many nights in a row did this make? Twelve? Sixteen? Too many to count, she thought. The case just would not leave her, the memories still too fresh, too raw to ignore. Sitting up, she moved to flip the pillow over, seeking the cooler side, the comfort of the freshly washed, starched cotton against her face.   
She saw the twin red dots on what had been pristine whiteness only five hours ago. They had dried to a soft, muted brown, and even in the darkness of her apartment she knew that they would appear red to her eyes if she turned on the light.   
The light.   
The only illumination in the room came from the sodium-arc streetlight outside; it cast a hazy yellow glaze on everything, tinting it. Nothing cast a shadow.   
Shadow. She remembered that case. Dark matter. A shadow that swallowed whatever it touched wholly, completely. Her sigh was a soft, harsh bark of breath as she turned over, away from the clock, away from the light, away from the memories.   
The cases started marching through her mind again, one after the other, disjointed images, sounds, snippets of conversations, the glossy black and white crime scene photographs; her distant, detached, professional voice on dozens of autopsy tapes, her clean, precise prose on still more dozens of reports, reports that Mulder always half-heartedly offered to help write, reports that she insisted on completing herself. The process was nothing more than closure, she knew; being able to fill the neat little boxes in on the official FBI forms were her catharsis. She teased Mulder about it to no end, reveling in the fact that she could make him squirm, make him think that she was nobly doing more than her share of the paperwork when in fact she wouldn't give it up if he begged her to.  
Only now it wasn't working anymore.   
The cases had started to stay with her.   
First Betts. He'd been the worst. The way he looked at her, licking his slimy, worm-like lips, the way his disembodied voice had informed her that she had...   
Had...   
Something.   
Something that he needed.   
She'd known then. How, she would never be able to verbalize. She'd just known that Betts had been right, somehow. It had all come together in a single perfect moment of utter clarity. The weight loss. A typical first symptom of a body fighting off an unknown and unwelcome attacker. Her need for sleep almost constantly. Her appetite fading and then vanishing. In the back of an ambulance a creature that wasn't human anymore had shown Scully her own mortality with the choked words of a hungry, eager beast. And Scully had known that the unnamed beast that had visited the women, the women like her, the group Scully had until that moment refused to include herself within....had come to visit her.   
After Betts, none of the cases had gone away, and the old ones had returned with a vengeance. Memories, images, sounds, smells. The feel of blood on her fingers, the taste of it in the back of her throat, the scent of it in her nose, coppery and warm and vital. Not like the blood of life, the blood that washed her and washed from her with the cycles of the moon; this was the blood of death, ripe with the stench of the grave. A beckoning grave, calling to her with maggot-riddled arms, welcoming her into its perpetual, cold embrace.   
Like a snake striking, her thoughts turned to one of the only comforts she had left.   
Mulder.  
Sighing, Scully turned over again, staring back out the window at the streetlight. His support, his unspoken caring had become as constant as the damn cancer itself. At first annoying, and by turns infuriating and cleansing, Mulder's stoic support had become the cornerstone of Scully's defense against the monster. Her mind turned to the most recent treatment. He'd insisted on driving her to the hospital, against her insistent wishes and in the end she'd given in. And, as it turned out, she was glad that she had. The treatment, a new combination of known- effective chemotherapy agents, had left her nauseous and weak. He'd been there to help her to his car, to drive her home in the companionable silence she'd come to treasure from him. It had only been a few days later that Mulder's casual slip of the tongue had revealed that he'd called the doctor ahead of time to inquire as to the effects of the planned treatment. At another time, in another life, Scully would have raged against his unmitigated gall of the man, of any man, any person.   
Not anymore.   
She knew what this was doing to him, what it was doing to them. Scully knew that her constant insistence that she was "Fine, Mulder," had started to drive a wedge between them. She could see it on his face, the way his eyes tightened whenever she gave him the canned answer to his oft-posed questions about her health and well-being.   
And the truth was, she wasn't fine.   
Not by a long shot.  
But it wasn't just the cancer. It wasn't just the invisible beast eating her alive from the inside. It wasn't just the fear of dying, of leaving so much undone, leaving so many dreams unrealized, leaving so many things unsaid.   
Scully sat up in bed. Feeling the muscles in her jaw tightening, she fought back the rising tide of the thoughts that threatened to flood her mind again.   
So many things left unsaid to so many different people. She'd never had a chance to tell Pendrell how flattered she'd been by his attentions. She'd never had a real chance to thank him for all the hard work he'd done on the cases she'd brought to him. Always in a hurry, such a hurry to get back to Mulder, to show him what she'd discovered, either to shoot down one of his out-of-this-world theories or to show him that once again, he was right, that he'd made one of his amazing logical leaps. Hurrying back to Mulder to be with him, to bask in the glow of his appreciation. The one treat she allowed herself when it came to the most important man in her life, that soft, gentle smile he gave her, and the unspoken words that Scully imagined she heard every time she saw that smile.   
Her mother. So many things left unsaid to her mother. Emotions Scully knew were there, knew her mother was aware of. But still, saying them, saying them out loud carried so much more weight than just assuming the other person knew what she was thinking.   
Ahab. Melissa. Charlie. Bill Junior. Even Jack Willis. She'd never told him why she'd left, the real reasons behind her sudden departure from his world. Some of them were gone.   
Some of them were still here, though. Alive, just as she was.   
Scully swept the covers back and got up, moving carefully out of the bedroom.   
The TV was on, as she knew it would be, the sound muted. The couch was empty, though, the afghan tossed aside casually. A empty pint of Ben & Jerry's sat on one corner of the living room table, a silver spoon balanced across the top carefully.  
Mulder was in the kitchen. The table was piled high with papers, folders, articles, clippings, newspapers, journals. At another time, Scully would have thought that Mulder's passion for his work had transcended the office yet again.  
She moved up beside him quietly. He was deep inside something, and Scully wondered what it was. Glancing over his shoulder, she read the title of the paper that held Mulder's interest.   
"Combinatorial Chemistry: New Methodologies for Generating and Screening Molecular Diversity."   
Fascinating, Scully thought, and not unkindly at all, way over his head. There were other papers scattered about and Scully squinted, reading the titles.  
"SH3 Domains and Peptide Ligands."  
"Selection with Polysomes: A Primer for Cell-Free Evolution."   
"Use of Peptide Libraries to Discover Receptor Antagonists."   
And we have a winner, Scully thought, spotting what had to be the longest title of the day: "Carbohydrate-Binding Peptides with Anti-Adhesion and Anti-Metastatic Potential Identified from a Random Peptide Phage Display Library (Quinn.)"   
Scully snorted, and the sound caught Mulder's attention. He flipped the cover page closed and turned to her, reaching up a hand to hook his glasses with two fingers.   
"Hey," he said softly.  
"Any luck?" she asked, trying to be polite.   
He laughed softly. "Sure...give me another fifty, sixty years, a medical degree and a residency in Extraterrestrial Oncology at Reticula University, and I'll have this knocked." He shot a glance up at her. "Think you can hang around that long?"  
His question was soft, gentle, filled with compassion and kindness, and it made Scully want to break his neck.   
"I'll see what I can do, Mulder," she said, moving away from him. She opened the refrigerator and peered inside. It was full of food, things to knosh on, things to nibble on, things to combine in new and exciting ways to make a meal from, and things to slurp, gulp, sip and drink.  
None of it looked appealing. With a heavy sigh, she shut the door and took a seat at the table across from her partner. He'd gone back to reading, losing himself in the piles of technical papers and journals again. She took a rare opportunity to look at him, to really study him. They were, in effect, living together. Neither knew when it had happened. He had started spending the night two or three times a week, and then four, five times, finally six and seven nights a week. Full-time. He had usurped the dresser in the guest room, and had been very careful to minimize his impact on her perfectly ordered apartment. Still, she thought with a small, private smile, there were signs that a man lived here how; or at least, that one visited quite often. Dark hairs in the sink drain instead of her usual fiery-red ones, the seat left up from time to time, a dribble here and there on the tile, a wadded-up towel tossed behind the bathroom door, a pile of sunflower husks left on a damp paper napkin on the drainboard, the empty Ben & Jerry's carton in the living room.   
The silent television, Mulder's version of a night-light, the 25 inch sentimental against his own nightmares and demons.   
Neither had spoken about it, because they both knew to do so would break the fragile spell they'd cast over the entire matter. To speak of it, to bring it into a discussion would ruin the gossamer tendrils that kept the entire thing together.   
"Mulder," she said softly. He looked up, reaching for his glasses again.   
"Can't sleep?" he asked. He knew nothing of her nightmares. Several times she had been inches from screaming, had the air in her lungs ready to expel, and had only been saved from causing Mulder to come running with pistol drawn by jamming a fist into her mouth at the last possible fraction of a second.   
"Yeah," Scully said. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering why he insisted on going through these papers, why he persisted on delving into things he just would never understand.  
"I've been...having a lot of trouble lately," she said softly.  
"I know." Surprised, she looked him square in the eyes, seeing the truth there. He had known.  
"How?"  
"Once...about a week ago, I was getting a towel out of the linen closet. I heard a sound from your bedroom." He paused. "A feral, scared little sound. I...opened the door and peeked in. You were thrashing on the bed."   
Mulder paused, wondering if he should finish the thought, if he should tell her everything that had happened that night. If he should tell her that he'd moved to the bed and knelt at her side, that he'd reached out and touched her face, stroked her cheek, wanting to make the dreams go away, wanting to wake her and take her into his arms and comfort her the rest of the night. Wanting to let her know that he was there for her. Wondering if he should tell her that he'd stood in the corner of her room for an hour, silent tears streaming down his face as he'd watched her fitfully toss and turn.  
"Oh," Scully said. She wasn't upset that he'd opened the door, that he'd crossed that invisible line. Her room was her room, the one place that she could go and shut the door against the world.  
But the cancer followed her in there, and now the dreams had, too.   
"Mulder," she started again, "I want to...see someone."   
He looked at her, not saying anything. "For the dreams," she added.   
He just nodded, waiting.  
"Mulder..." Scully paused, wondering how to ask. "I..." She stopped again. Just do it, Dana, she chastised herself.   
"Yes," he said gently.  
"Yes what?" Scully asked.  
"Yes, I'll go with you."   
He donned his glasses and returned to his reading, knowing her well enough to realize that to say anything more would make her uncomfortable, would make her upset for having to publicly ask for something from him. Scully stood, suddenly tired. She walked to where he sat and reached out a hand, ruffling his hair. He glanced up at her again, surprise written over his face.   
Scully wasn't one for...touching. "Thanks," she said softly.   
"Don't mention it," he said, wondering if he should turn back to the papers to give her a chance at exiting quickly, quietly.   
"You're my best friend, you know..." Scully said softly.   
I could be so much more, Mulder thought, but said nothing, only nodding.   
"I know. Go to bed, Scully. I'll be here." Forever, he silently added.   
"Good night, Mulder,"   
Scully whispered, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head. She patted him on the shoulder and padded back to her bedroom, sliding between the now-cool sheets and fluffing the pillow with one hand.   
This time, her sleep was bereft of dreams.  
***  
Mulder glanced at his watch. Five-thirty. Almost time to get Scully up for the day. Gathering the papers into a single teetering pile, Mulder moved them from the table to a space on Scully's desk she'd set aside for them. He was careful to turn the first page face down so she wouldn't be tempted to read them.   
Moving to the bathroom, Mulder regarded his face in the mirror.  
Once again, he felt it. The tug in his chest, the taste of bile at the back of his throat, the lead weight in his gut. He felt himself pale as he looked at his reflection.  
Asshole, he mocked the image. You could die tonight, and no one would give half a horseshit. Your mother barely remembers your name. No one at the Bureau would shed a tear. Skinner would probably throw a party, he thought. So do it, asshole. You've got your service weapon. It's sitting in its holster on the front hall table. Just walk over, unlimber it from the leather, stick it in your mouth and p-u-l-l the trigger.   
Mulder dry-washed his face with his hands, letting the self- hate wash over him. Every morning it was the same thing, for as long as he could remember. Every morning he would get up and try to think of a reason not to kill himself. The despair that he'd lived with all his life was so familiar, and in a strange way so comfortable and welcome that he found he operated better if he got it over with first thing in the morning. So, every morning, just like clockwork he'd stare at the mirror and silently berate himself, punching and kicking at his image with imaginary fists and feet, pummeling his mind until the feeling went away.   
Only lately...it had been harder and harder to find a reason not to do the deed; for a long time it had been the Quest; finding Samantha, or finding what had happened to her, and exposing those responsible to the cold, harsh light of justice. That quest had been replaced by another one, a more urgent one.   
Scully.   
Scully and her Cancer. Whenever he thought of it, of that... thing growing inside her body, he wanted it to be a real person, a living thing he could give a proper name to; so in his mind, it was a pronoun. Scully's Cancer.   
And he was responsible. She would never admit it, never come out and blame him for it, but he knew in his heart that she blamed him, that a small part of her hated him for what he has caused to be done to her in his name, in the name of silencing his voice, of ending his Quest.  
He looked at himself in the mirror for a long, long time, a single question repeating itself over and over again in his mind.   
Who am I?   
He fell into his own gaze, and the transcendental nature of his thoughts lifted him outside of his body for a moment, and he felt so detached from himself that Mulder felt like he was looking a photograph of a stranger rather than into a mirror. He was unfamiliar to himself at these moments. His mind helpfully supplied answers to the question.   
Asshole, it said softly.  
Bastard.   
Cocksucker.  
Dickhead.   
Egotistical moron.   
Fruitcake. He stopped. He always stopped on "G." "H" was equally hard, but he had no shortage of "I's".   
Idiot.  
Insane person  
Jerkoff.   
Killjoy.   
Lunatic.   
Moron.  
Shit, he thought. "N."  
Fuck it, he thought. "Asshole," he said softly to the mirror, starting over again. Once, when the depression had been severe, Mulder had made a solemn promise to himself that if he ever made it from "A" to "Z" he would do it; he would take the gun and end it all  
Slowly, the lead weight in his belly receded, the bile went away and the tug at his heart vanished. The major waves of hatred washing over him would ebb until the next morning, and he would once again stand in front of the mirror and look for a reason not to eat a bullet.   
Only now, finding the reason wasn't the hard part. Scully was the reason to live. To find a cure. To make the monster inside her head go away, forever. Before she went away...forever.  
***  
FBI Headquarters  
J. Edgar Hoover Building   
Washington, DC   
Friday Morning, 0900   
  
Mulder looked at the phone for the sixth time in ten minutes and wished he had the mental power to force the damn thing to ring. As if in answer to his urgent mental plea, it actually did ring, startling Mulder so badly he almost fell out of his seat.   
"Mulder," he answered.   
"Fox Mulder, as I live and breath!"   
The voice of Jeanie Amend, MD, was a welcome sound to Mulder's ears.  
"Hi, Jeanie. How've you been?"  
"Since I left VICAP, you mean? Wonderful. You were right; private practice is much better suited to my personality." She paused. "I just hope you're not calling to ask me back on a consult."   
He laughed into the phone. "No...but I calling for help."   
That caught her attention. "Oh?"   
"About six months after you left VICAP, I got...assigned to another division. The X-Files."  
"Oh."  
This time Jeanie's voice was quiet, soft. "Samantha?"  
"Nothing yet," Mulder said. "But just about everything else you could think of."  
"I see," Jeanie replied. "Need someone to talk to?"   
"Not me," Mulder said quickly. Almost too quickly, he thought. "My partner."   
"Oh. Does he know you're calling me?"   
Mulder grinned. He remembered back to a time when the young Fox Mulder had met up with a more seasoned agent, one Jeanie Amend, who had made it more than clear in the first ten minutes after meeting him that she wouldn't mind a casual physical relationship. Or an involved one, she'd added. At the time, Phoebe Green had been the most recent occupier of Mulder's bed, and that wound had been particularly tender. He'd turned her down, with an explanation.   
Wait until she gets a load of Scully, Mulder thought. There is no way she's going to believe that we're not sleeping together.   
"Her name," Mulder corrected.   
"Oh." Jeanie was obviously processing that bit of information.  
"Dana Scully," Mulder said. "She's also a physician."  
"Shrink?"  
Mulder turned his chair to the side, propping a leg up on an open drawer. That was the precise moment that Special Agent Dana Scully, MD, the object of the current phone conversation, opened the door. The noise from Mulder's movement hid the sound of her entrance, and he continued talking, completely unaware that she was standing in the doorway.  
"No. Undergraduate in physics, residency in forensic pathology. Instructor at Quantico, then the X-Files. Probably the best field agent I've ever seen."  
Scully stopped in her tracks, listening. Mulder was obviously talking about her, but to whom?  
"You sound like you..." Jeanie trailed off, not sure if she could finish that thought. She and Mulder had been very close once, but it had been almost seven years since they'd last spoken.   
"What?"   
"...that you are...close."  
"Very," Mulder said. "She's my best friend, Jeanie. She means a lot to me."   
Scully froze, not wanting to disturb him, not wanting him to end this...fascinating conversation.   
"So what's the problem?" Jeanie asked.  
"Well, I can only give you the piled-higher-and-deeper answer to that question," he joked.  
"Shoot, wannabee."   
"Um, Jeanie, you've got to take me on as a patient before I can say another word. I need the...doctor-patient thing."   
"Confidentiality? You got it. I'll send you a bill."  
"Ok...Scully was diagnosed with an inoperable metastatic mass behind her nasal passages, just this side of the cranium. Right now, we're in a holding pattern. The treatment isn't working, but the mass isn't getting any bigger, either. The treatment is taking a lot out of her, both physically and mentally. She's started to have nightmares about the cases she and I have been on."   
Jeanie paused. "How bad are they? The cases, I mean."   
Mulder paused, running a hand over his face. "Bad, Jeanie. Worse than VICAP. The running joke around here is that when the FBI needs a profiler, they call VICAP, and when VICAP needs a profiler, they call Scully and Mulder. We get the worst of the worst when it comes to VICAP cast-offs, and worse than that on the stuff we generate ourselves. Things that would make a seasoned VICAP investigator puke his guts out."   
Jeanie paused again. "How long have you two been partners?"  
"Almost nine years, Jeanie. She's taken it all and come back for more. Plus..."   
"...she's put up with you for nine years," Jeanie added, laughing.  
She laughed so loud that Scully could hear it from across the room. She suddenly felt like a voyeur. She wasn't one-hundred- percent sure who Mulder was talking to, but she thought she had a good idea. A therapist of some kind, a friend from...before.   
Before she had met him.   
A woman.   
Something uncoiled in Scully's belly, a feeling she couldn't quite place, couldn't exactly name. If it had been anybody besides Mulder, she would have thought it jealousy, but...  
That was insane.  
It was Mulder, for God's sake.  
"Yeah," Mulder said softly. "She's put up with me for nine long years, Jeanie. Longer than any partner, by a factor of about a thousand. I know a lot of therapists, Jeanie, in and out of the business. I called you because you know a little of what she and I go through every day, because you used to be one of us, because I know you can be discrete...and because I know you're the best." Mulder paused. "And she deserves the best."   
Scully felt something stinging at the corners of her eyes and she brushed at them angrily, wondering for the hundredth time when maintenance was going to change the filters in the ventilation system. There was obviously dust in the air.  
"Well...what's her schedule look like?" Mulder grinned into the phone, swiveling his chair to look at the "I Want To Believe" poster thumbtacked behind his desk.  
"Well, we travel a lot, but I've tanked the schedule this week and next so I know we'll be in town. Saturday is probably the best day for us."   
Jeanie paused. "Us?"   
"Uh...yeah. We're both....I mean...she asked me to...." He stopped, not sure why the question had unnerved him so much.  
"Mulder...what aren't you telling me about the two of you."  
"Nothing, Jeanie. We're friends. That's all."   
Jeanie said nothing, using the old interrogator's trick of letting the subject fill in the silences, and Mulder fell for it.   
"Look, it's not like I haven't thought about it, but..." She doesn't feel that way about me, he thought. She never could, never would, never will. No way, no how.  
"...we're just not that way," he finished.  
"We're partners. Friends. Good friends. But...only friends."   
Scully suddenly realized that she wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere else so she could come back into this office as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't heard what Mulder had just said.  
He'd thought about it?  
Oh my God.   
She knew that if she closed the door, he'd hear the click and he'd know that someone had been listening. And it wouldn't take his Ph.D. to figure out that the someone had been her. No one else besides Skinner ever came down here, and Skinner'd have no compunction about entering the room and waiting patiently for Mulder to get off the phone.   
"Be that as it may, Mulder...it's highly irregular for two partners to enter therapy outside of Bureau jurisdictions. Don't they have those staff shrinks anymore?"  
"Let me worry about the paperwork, ok? And do me another favor, Jeanie. Send the bills to me, ok? The treatments she's undergoing now aren't entirely covered, and I think Scully's starting to hurt for money."   
Scully covered her mouth with her hand, shocked. How had he found out?   
"Sure thing, Mulder. How's Saturday at noon?" "Perfect. I'll tell Scully when she gets in."   
Seeing the perfect opportunity, Scully pushed the door all the way open and walked briskly into the office.   
"Tell Scully what?" she asked softly.  
Mulder spun around in his chair, his eyes wide. "Gotta go. See ya," he said, abruptly hanging up. "Scully!" he said, happily.   
"Tell Scully what?" she repeated. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. He looked guilty, of all things! He'd spent the last ten minutes arranging for one of the best therapists he knew to take them on as a case, and he looked guilty!  
"Uh...that was...an old friend. From my VICAP days. She's in private practice now, and I thought...I'd, uh...give her a call and see if she had any room in her schedule for...you and...us."   
Scully nodded, taking her seat. "I see."  
She vacillated between chewing him out for assuming that he would get to pick the therapist and throwing her arms around him for being so... Wonderful. "When?" she asked, deciding to take neither option.  
"Saturday. Noon."  
"Fine." She turned to the work on her desk, selecting a file and opening it.  
Mulder had a sudden suspicion. "Scully...how long were you at the door?"   
He saw the blush creeping up her neck, and that answered better than the denial he knew was coming.   
"Mulder! Are you asking me if I was eavesdropping on your conversation?"   
"No. I know you were. How long?"  
Scully snorted. "You're dreaming, Mulder." She pretended to study the file in front of her, but could feel his gaze on her, could feel his eyes boring into the side of her head. Turning to face him, Scully sighed. "Fine. About two minutes."   
He nodded, trying to think back. She might have heard.   
"Scully..." he started slowly, standing and moving to the side of his desk, reaching out an arm to lean against a file cabinet. "Uh... I'm not sure how much you heard. I might have..."  
Scully glanced up, a ball forming in her stomach. No, she thought. Not now. Not here. "Mulder-" she said, holding up a hand. "If...I heard anything, I shouldn't have. It was a private conversation."   
And that was when Mulder knew she had heard. He bit his lip. Scully stood and walked to where he was leaning against the cabinet. "Mulder...if you really need to talk about...anything...now, I guess we can. But since it's something you were talking to the therapist about...maybe it's just something we should leave to our session."   
He saw the opening and took it. "Sure. Whatever." He paused. "We'd better get to work."   
Scully nodded, turning to go back to her desk. She tried not to think about what she'd heard. She failed.   
***  
1640 Hours  
  
Scully sighed and closed the last folder from her IN basket and tossed it in the OUT pile. The reputation of the X-Files Division has spread in the field, and now agents that were up against unsolvable cases forwarded the dregs to Headquarters, hoping that "Mr. & Mrs. Spooky" would be able to close what they had been unable to.  
The most recent case had been another child abduction, this one over two years old. The Boise field office had come up dry after thousands of man-hours of investigation. And so it had gone into the House Mail and had been forwarded to the Vortex of Investigative Solutions, also known as The X-Files.   
Where it would be filed, and where it would die. There was nothing to foster Mulder's attention in the file. It would become a statistic, a footnote on the Uniformed Crime Report for Fiscal Year 2000, another notch on an invisible monster's belt.   
Scully rubbed a hand over her face and hooked her glasses, folding them and tucking them into their case.   
"Ready?" Mulder asked.   
She glanced over at him and saw that he, too, was ready to go. It was still twenty minutes to quitting time, but it was Friday, and Scully had noticed that Skinner had been cutting them more than a little slack lately. She wouldn't let herself wonder why.   
"Yeah." She smiled softly. "Mulder, will you do me a favor?"  
"Anything, Scully," he said, meaning it. Meaning much more than the words could every convey.   
"Tonight...can we just...hang out? Watch a movie or something? Can we..."   
He chuckled. "Forget reading the minutes of the National Institute of Health's conference on Combinatorial Methods of Cancer Treatment?"   
Scully nodded. "Yeah. That."   
Mulder gave her the soft, warm smile that she cherished. "Of course. You can even pick the movie."  
***  
Apartment of Dana Scully   
Annapolis, Maryland 0920 Hours  
  
The movie she'd picked was "Dear God," a light, fluffy comedy about a con-man-turned-postal worker who started out in the dead letter office and ended up answering people's letters to God. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, Mulder thought, something light and airy to take our minds off the stress.   
Only, it hadn't turned out that way. Halfway through the movie Mulder found himself mentally composing the letter to God. His own faith had been shaken more than once over the years, and he wasn't sure exactly what he believed it when it came to a Higher Power. At times like this, though, faced with what he and Scully were fighting, he desperately wanted to believe that there was someone...or some listening to his silent prayers. He felt the heaviness in his eyes as the credits started to roll, and knew that if Scully looked at him she would see that he was on the verge of tears.   
"Good movie," she said, her voice thick. Mulder nodded, not replying, and fished for the remote control behind him on the couch. Thumbing STOP and then REWIND, he stood, giving Scully room, giving her time to compose herself. Gathering the popcorn bowl, he stood and took it to the kitchen, taking the time to dump the unpopped kernels in the garbage can under the sink and then running some warm water in it, remembering to squirt some liquid detergent in it to soak the butter off the sides and bottom.  
He didn't realize Scully was standing behind him until he felt her hand at the small of his back. It sent a jolt up his spine. He started, turning and looking at her, one thought pulsing through his mind. My God, he wondered, is that what she feels when I do that to her?   
"Mulder..." she said softly. He looked at her face, at her soft, sweet smile and noticed for perhaps the millionth time the small parenthetical smile-wrinkle at the edge of her mouth. There were times that he desperately wanted to reach down and touch it, and then kiss it. Forcing such dangerous thoughts from his mind, he answered, "Hmm?"  
"If the therapy goes well...I'm thinking you might get to spend a night in your own apartment some time soon."   
He nodded, not wanting to address that issue. He'd grown comfortable living at Scully's place, and he was in no hurry to leave. If she asked, he would be packed in minutes. If he sensed she didn't want him here, he'd be gone so quick, his shadow would have to look around for him. But...if she wanted him here, or she left it up to him, he'd probably never leave.  
"I was just wondering..." she said.   
"About what?" he asked over his shoulder as he returned to the living room.   
"Tomorrow."  
"What about it?"   
"Well, Mulder...therapy can be a very intense experience, as I'm sure you're aware." She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to bring up what had been on her mind most of the day, ever since hearing his conversation with Jeanie.  
"What's on your mind, Scully?" Mulder asked, knowing that this conversation had been inevitable.   
"Well...in order for the therapy to be of any value, we both have to be honest. Brutally honest." She exited the kitchen and joined him in the living room. Mulder was sitting on the couch, one leg tucked under him. She took the other end, tucking both feet under.  
Mulder nodded. "I know. I do have a clinical rating on my Ph.D.. I could go into private practice, you know."  
She nodded, trying to hide the smile. The thought of anyone going to a man for therapy who needed it worse than anyone she had ever known never failed to amuse her. "Yes, I'm aware of that. You could quit the FBI, hang out your shingle and start holding group therapy for abductees."   
"And for liver-eating mutant serial killers," he added with a chuckle.   
"And for displaced Reticulans who are homesick," she said, continuing the game.  
"And for flukemen who just don't feel at home outside the sewer."   
"Let's not forget shape-shifting alien bounty hunters."  
"Or clones of my sister."   
"All the Jeremiah Smith clones...identity counseling."  
"Jigsaw-puzzle-tattooed circus freaks."  
"Bimbo bug doctors."  
"Oooh, Scully. Low blow. How about recently-divorced men who think their tattoos are talking to them?"   
"Touche," she said softly.   
Ed Jerse was still a sore spot between them, she knew.   
"Or, morphing losers that want to make out with me."   
The game had taken a turn, Mulder knew. It was personal now. Not in a bad way, but this was way. Their way of approaching the delicate, touchy topics. Always playfully, always with tongue planted firmly in cheek, but always with love and caring, compassion and gentleness. They had never really discussed the Eddie Van Blundht matter.   
"Ok, ok," he said. "Enough. Suffice it to say that I would have an eclectic clientele." He paused. "Are you sorry?" he asked.  
"About?"  
"Eddie?"  
"Sorry about what?"  
"That he didn't...that you didn't..."   
She shook her head. "It was a weird night, Mulder. It's been almost two years since then." He nodded. She'd dodged the question. Again.   
"That's the sort of thing that you're talking about, isn't it?" he asked.   
She nodded. "Yeah."  
Hesitating, she took a deep breath and dove in. "Mulder...this thing in my head. I know you haven't given up hope, and for that...I'll always be grateful. And I still hold out hope. But this therapy tomorrow...and for however long Jeanie thinks we need to go...it's going to bring up things that we never dealt with. Things that we always thought we'd have time for, after the Quest had been completed, after we'd found the truth and uncovered the lies. And if... if our hope runs out...if my time runs out....I don't want to....I don't want there to be any unfinished business, Mulder." She looked away, unable to hold his steady gaze any longer. "I'm going to be brutally honest in there, Mulder. And I need you to be, too. We need to get all of ... the .... stuff out. All the feelings, the anger, the fear, the..." She trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.  
"I'll be honest, Scully," he said softly. As I can be, he thought. "But what I wanted to ask you about was...after. Tomorrow afternoon, Sunday...and then the work week. How are we going to handle it if..."   
If I tell you I feel about you the way I hope you feel about me, she thought.   
"...if some things come up that we never thought would?" he finished.   
Scully nodded, still not able to look at him. Mulder took a deep breath and stood, walking back to the kitchen. He popped the refrigerator open and spotted the bottle of Zinfandel. Grabbing it and two glasses, he returned to the living room. She'd opened it sometime in the last week, so there was no need for a corkscrew. Biting it with his teeth, Mulder yanked the cork out of the neck and carefully poured two glasses, offering one to Scully. She took it, allowing one tiny sip to pass her lips. The memory of what had happened the last time she'd shared a bottle of wine with a man that looked exactly like this one, on this couch, had not faded from her mind one bit.   
"Scully," Mulder said slowly. "No matter what happens, it's not going to change my feelings for you one iota." Nothing ever could, he thought but didn't say. "We've been partners, and friends, for almost nine years now. We know each other better than most married couples. We can read each other's thoughts." God, I hope not, he silently amended. "I doubt there is anything that either of us could say in that room that would change the way we operate."   
How wrong you are, she thought.   
"But...if we bring something up that neither of us can handle outside of therapy, I think we're both adult enough to recognize that and to respect each other's wishes. If you don't want to bring something up outside of our sessions, just tell me that it's a `private' matter, and I'll understand. The same goes for me. If we declare it `private,' then it stays in Jeanie's office. Otherwise, we'll handle it as it comes." He held up his glass as if to offer a toast. "Deal?"  
"Deal," she said, clinking the rim of her glass against his. She took another sip. "Thanks, Mulder," she said.  
"Anytime, Scully. Now...what's the next movie?"  
"Bed of Roses," she said, glancing at the white and blue Blockbuster plastic clamshell case. "Christian Slater, Mary Stuart Masterson. The box art looked interesting."   
And it was, Mulder thought almost two hours later. And again, another movie that threatened to make him cry. Star-crossed lovers, one of them shattered from the loss of the love of his life. He fought not to sigh as the credits crawled up the screen.  
Scully's eyes were heavy lidded as she reached for the remote.  
"Nice movie," she offered softly.  
"Yeah," he answered, standing. He gathered the wineglasses and the now-empty bottle and went to the kitchen. He repeated the warm soapy water process and rinsed the bottle out, adding it to the slowly growing pile for recycling. His thoughts were a million miles away.  
"I'm going to turn in," Scully called from the living room.   
"G'night," he called back.  
"G'night, Mulder," she answered.  
He heard her moving down the hallway to her bedroom, and then the soft click as her door shut behind her. Returning to the living room, Mulder doused all the lights and made himself comfortable on the couch.   
Asshole, he thought.   
Bastard.   
Cocksucker.   
Dickhead.   
The litany started again and he let it wash over him, caressing him with the familiar words of self-hate. He'd seen the way the character Mary Stuart had played had looked at Christian Slater and he'd felt that hard, evil tug in the center of his chest, the warm, foul taste of bile at the back of his throat and the tight, heavy feeling behind his eyes. Mulder knew he would give anything to have Scully look at him that way, with the wide, wet eyes, the doe's eyes, the slightly parted lips, the short, heaving gasps of breaths as she tried to control her passion for the man before her.  
And the wanting was killing him. It wasn't the desire, the sexual hunger that bothered him. Scully was an attractive woman; he was a normally-functioning heterosexual man. To want her sexually was not surprising. But to want her love, her passion, her desire back was insanity itself.   
Sighing, he muted the television and began surfing, looking for a midnight creature feature, something to distract him with its' cheesiness. Something inane and mind-numbing. Something without love scenes, something without kissing or lovemaking.  
Instead, he found "Love Story."  
Ali McGraw. Ryan O'Neal. Dying heroine. Love forever and then some. Goodbye scene to end all goodbye scenes. Like a rubbernecker at a results of a high-speed car accident, Mulder found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the screen. He watched, horrified as his worst nightmare was played out before his eyes.  
At least she knew he loved her, Mulder thought. And he knew that she loved him. And love means never having to say you're sorry.  
***  
  
Apartment of Dana Scully   
Saturday Morning 0710 Hours  
  
Scully woke slowly, aware that if she'd had the nightmares the night before, she didn't remember them. She felt curiously rested, as if the discussion with Mulder on the couch had put some of the demons to rest, if only for one night. And for that, she was thankful. She donned the fuzzy bathrobe she kept draped over a rocking chair and crept down the hallway, not wanting to wake Mulder if he'd managed to fall asleep.   
He was asleep, snoring softly on the couch, one naked foot peeking from under the afghan. Scully had a momentary desire to reach down and run her nails along the sole of his foot, but resisted the temptation. That was cruel.   
Mulder stirred on the couch and mumbled in his sleep. She paused, listening.   
There. He did it again.   
She leaned closer, straining to hear.   
"Scully," he mumbled.   
She smiled, wondering what he was dreaming about. Remembering some of the dreams she'd had about him in the past, Scully blushed. She glanced at his sleeping form and saw that the blanket had slid down and was now about mid-chest. Reaching for it, she tugged it higher, wanting to cover him.   
He woke. His eyes slid open slowly, finding her. "Scully," he mumbled.   
"G'morning."  
"Good morning," she said, releasing the blanket and straightening. "Sleep well?"   
He snorted. "As well as can be expected."   
She turned and walked to the kitchen and began preparing the morning coffee. Mulder sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to get the scratchy feeling out. The smell of the dripping coffee caught his attention and he stumbled into the kitchen, blissfully unaware that he was dressed in nothing but boxers.  
Scully turned to hand him an empty cup and felt her throat close. He was...peeking out!   
"Mulder!" she said.  
He stopped. "Huh?"  
"Your..." She didn't want to point, and she didn't want to say `penis' and she most certainly didn't want to use any other word for it. she chastised herself. And it wasn't like you've never seen one before, Dana Katherine Scully, but it usually had a catheter sticking out! She felt the blush creeping up her cheeks and she turned away.   
Mulder looked down and saw what had startled his partner. "Sorry," he mumbled, reaching down to rearrange himself. "Gee, Scully, you act as if you've never-"  
"Don't," she said sharply.   
He nodded; until DKS had her first cup of coffee in the morning, she was a b-e-a-r.   
They drank in silence, one at either end of the kitchen table. Scully stared at her cup, idly circling the rim with a finger. Mulder had a case of the morning stares, and had his gaze focused on the napkin holder in the middle of the table.  
"Today's the day," Scully said softly.  
Mulder nodded, grunting. "Unh-huh."   
"Nervous?"   
"Not particularly," he said. Liar He thought.   
"I am."  
Hmm, Mulder thought.   
"About?"   
"All of it."  
"Oh." He took a chance. "Do you want to do the first one alone?" Scully glanced up, concern etching her features. "No, no, Mulder. It's just..." She sighed, running a hand through her sleep-tousled hair.   
For some strange reason, Mulder found the motion startlingly arousing.  
"It's just that...this is difficult for me. Asking for help."  
He nodded, understanding. "Millions of..." he stopped, realizing that it didn't what millions of people did every day; what mattered to Scully that it was first time reaching out for help. Well, he corrected himself, not exactly. Scully had a wonderful mind, but sometimes she forgot certain things. And he wondered how convenient her `forgetful' memory actually was. The few times she'd visited the official FBI shrinks, he'd been notified as her superior, per Bureau policy. The notice didn't mention what she was seeking counseling for, and Mulder would have cheerfully eaten a bowl of live cockroaches before asking her. So it wasn't the first time she was asking for help.  
But it was the first time she's including , he thought.   
"Scully, I know I don't have to say this...but no matter what you need from me to get you through this...whatever `this' turns out to be, I will do it. I know it's hard for you to ask me...to ask anyone that knows you...that cares for you...but you can ask me. I'll do whatever you want."   
She nodded. She did know this. But it felt wonderful hearing it from his mouth. She looked up from her cup and had to smile. She had seen Mulder at all times of the day and night, all across the country, but there was something so wonderfully familiar and comfortable about seeing his sleep-rumpled form first thing in the morning, in their kitchen, sharing a cup of...   
Their kitchen? That was a dangerous thought.   
"Thanks," she whispered.   
Mulder's emotional radar switched on and he sent a single search wave towards her, much like a submarine might ping a potential target. He waited for the return signal, and what he got was that Scully wanted some time to prepare for this...alone.   
"I'm going for a run," he announced, and then for form, added, "Join me?"   
Scully smiled at him, amazed that anyone who claimed to be male could be so incredibly sensitive. When he wanted to be, she reminded herself.   
"No, I think I'll pamper myself today. Take a long bath...you know."  
"Sure," he said, standing, taking his cup to the sink.  
"Call me if you need help shaving your legs."   
"In your dreams, Mulder," she shot back. You got that right, he thought.   
***  
  
Office of Jeanie Amend, MD   
Annapolis, Maryland  
1155 Hours   
  
Mulder parked the car in the empty lot and killed the engine.  
"Need a minute?" he asked.  
Scully had been incredibly tense the entire trip. He'd actually caught her biting her nails, something she never did.  
"No...let's get this over with," she said, reaching for the door handle.  
Mulder reached over and stayed her hand. "I know I'm not practicing, and that I'm just a dumb fed...but `let's get this over with' is not a productive attitude for therapy, Scully."   
She glanced over at him, annoyed.   
His voice took on a fake Austrian accent. "Zee patient, zay must vant to be helped," he said.   
"Vuck you, Mulder," she said, laughing. "I'm just nervous, that's all." She turned back towards him, taking his hand in both of hers. Mulder suddenly found it very hard to breath.  
"Mulder...I need to do this. need to do this. There isn't anyone I could think of asking to go through this with me besides you." She paused, deciding to let it slip once and for all. "There's no one that's closer to me than you, Mulder. I hope you know that." She held his hands for two long heartbeats and then released them, reaching for the door handle.   
Mulder sat in the car as Scully got out, his mouth hanging open. He'd known it, of course, but having her say it... Amazing. He got out of the car and locked it with the remote, a strange satisfaction coming from the electronic chirp of the car alarm. Together, they walked towards Jeanie's office.   
***  
The receptionist had the day off, apparently, because her desk was vacant, and there seemed to be no one else in the outer office.   
"Jeanie?" Mulder called.  
"In here," a voice answered.  
Her office was almost hidden behind two huge sliding doors. Mulder opened them and ushered his partner through.   
"Jeanie Amend, shrink extrordinaire, this is Dana Scully, pathologist to the stars."  
Scully felt herself sizing Dr. Amend up like a suspect and felt ashamed. It was a hard habit to break once acquired, and no FBI agent worth her salt lacked the ability. Jeanie Amend was on the far side of forty, but looked fantastic for her age; her skin was a rich, chocolate brown, and she had matching eyes, eyes that danced with barely repressed mirth.   
"Watch this," Amend mouthed to her new patient. "Fox!" she wailed, running into his arms. She grabbed his head between her hands and started placing wet, sloppy kisses all over his face. To Scully's slack-jawed amazement, Mulder just stood there, looking like a little boy trapped by a feared aunt or grandmother at a family reunion, a soft, petulant smile of resignation plastered on his face.   
"Jeanie, you know you're not supposed to call me `Fox'!" Mulder complained.   
"Fox, schmox!" Dr. Amend replied. She drew back, her hands on his biceps, sizing him up. "What's it been? Seven years? You look..." she trailed off.  
"Like shit," he finished. "Ok, old home week...let's have an attitude check." Mulder grinned. "I hate VICAP," he said.  
"Positive attitude check."  
"I positively hate VICAP!" he insisted with a grin.  
"Negative attitude check."  
"I fucking VICAP!" he almost shouted. Dr. Amend exploded in peals of laughter and drew her ex- colleague into a long embrace. Then she turned her attention to the diminutive redheaded agent.  
"And you must be Dana. Fox...whoops...Mulder has told me so much about you!"   
Scully nodded, her mouth still open in surprise.   
"Scully, you're catching flies!" Mulder chided her. Closing her mouth, Scully wondered what, exactly, Dr. Amend and Mulder had been through during their time together in VICAP. As if sensing her thoughts, Amend placed a hand on her shoulder. "Mulder is the one that convinced me that leaving VICAP was the best thing for my mental health, right after a particularly nasty case involving a pedophilic pyro-necrophile."   
Scully shuddered. Having sex with burning, dead children? No, that made no sense. Having sex with dead children and then lighting them on fire. Yuck.  
"God," she said softly. "That would be hard on anyone!"  
Amend nodded. "But harder on some than others," she remarked softly, releasing Scully's shoulder to move around behind her desk.   
The desk, Scully saw, was huge, antique and exquisite. Large enough to recover aircraft, it had to be at least two hundred years old. Scully was wondering about Amend's last remark, and once again the doctor seemed to read her thoughts.  
"Mulder and I have something in common. We've both lost someone close to us though...inexplicable means. My son was kidnapped almost twenty years ago. Unlike Mulder, however, I have had a little closure. My son was taken by a pedophile, and..." She trailed off and Mulder winced. It was still hard for her to talk about it. "He was found months later...he'd been tortured and abused. What added insult to injury was that the Postal Inspectors seized a piece of pornographic videotape that had my son's murder on it."   
Mulder winced again, remembering back to a time when he'd found Jeanie in her office at the VICAP facility at Marine Barracks, Quantico reviewing the tape over and over again. Scully felt her heart go out to this woman.  
"I'm so sorry," she said, knowing how inane it sounded, but unable to think of anything else to say. She was sorry.  
"Thank you," Amend said, using the voice that Scully recognized. She'd obviously said those words in conjunction with the terrible, horrible loss more than a few hundred thousand times. "So," Amend continued, "I guess we can get started."   
There were three leather wing chairs facing her desk. Scully took the one in the middle, and Mulder the one to her immediate left. Amend settled behind her desk, her hands folded neatly on the blotter in front of her.   
"Before we begin, I think there's some things that you need to know. Mulder called me yesterday and told me that you have an inoperative metastatic mass behind your nasal passages, on the surface of your cranium, and that you're...undergoing treatment." You mean I'm dying, Scully thought, but she just nodded.   
"That's correct."   
"He also told me that you've been having nightmares about your cases, nightmares that have persisted for a few weeks. Is that also correct?"  
Again, Scully nodded.   
"The reason I'm bringing this up is because I want there to be complete and total honesty in this situation. I must be honest in pointing out that treating FBI partners outside of channels is not the norm, and I'm not entirely comfortable about it, if only because were the wrong people to find out, it could have a negative impact on your careers."  
Neither partner said anything for a long moment. Finally, Mulder spoke.  
"Jeanie, due to the nature of the X- Files, and some of the...enemies we've made over the years, it would be a boon to those that stand against us were it to become public knowledge that she and I are in therapy. This seems to be the safest route to take at the time. I hope you understand."   
Amend smiled at Mulder.   
"Mulder, I've known you for almost ten years, my boy. I trust you completely. I know you never totally trusted me, but that's...that's just you."  
Mulder shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I never...trusted you completely," he said softly. "I've...finally learned to trust," he added.   
Amend felt her eyebrows crawling up.   
Turning to Scully, she asked, "I assume he's referring to you?"   
Even though she'd asked Scully, Mulder answered. "Yes. I trust Scully explicitly. Only her."   
Amend nodded. "Scully?" she asked. "Is that how you prefer to be addressed?"   
Scully grinned. "He's the only one that calls me that. I really don't care at this point. I'm used to being called `Scully.'"   
"Ok, Scully. Do you feel the same way about your partner?"   
Scully didn't even hesitate. "Absolutely. I won't say that he's the only one that I trust. I trust our AD, and my mother. My brothers. But most of all, I do trust Mulder. As he said, explicitly."  
Amend nodded, reached into her desk drawer and returned with a legal pad. She made a few notes and then frowned.   
"This next part is delicate. I've already asked Mulder this, but I need to hear both of your responses. This is a...touchy question, but I find it's better to get these things out in the open right away."   
Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance, smiles tugging at their lips. "What, exactly, is the complete and utter nature of your relationship? In all aspects and facets?"  
Neither partner spoke, so Amend looked at Scully. "Dana? Perhaps you'd like to start?" Scully shifted uncomfortably. Dr. Amend certainly didn't waste much time!   
"Uh...we're partners and friends. Best friends, I would say, but I can only speak for me. We've been through a lot together. He's been the most important person in my life for about eight, almost nine years now."   
Amend nodded, taking notes.   
"Mulder?"  
"What she said," he replied.   
Amend glanced up, not sure if Mulder was mocking her. Seeing the look on her face, Mulder hastened to flesh out his response. "Scully is my best friend. We are partners. We've been through a lot together."   
Amend nodded. "Now for the touchy part. Have you two ever had, are you now in, or do you contemplate a romantic relationship?"   
The room fell deathly silent. Neither partner looked at the other. "The reason I ask," Amend added gently, "is because it will determine certain treatment and therapeutic regimens. If you're friends, that's great. Wonderful. Partners, no problem. But when the aspect of something deeper, something more personal emerges from relationships of this type...it can have devastating effects if not dealt with correctly at the outset."   
Mulder crossed his legs.  
Sully fidgeted.  
"I see," Amend said. "Neither of you is either confirming nor denying it." Again, neither partner responded to her prodding. Amend folded her hands on her desk and glanced at Scully.   
"Dana, what do you hope to get from this experience?"  
"I'm not sure I understand the question."   
"Well, are you here for pre-grief counseling? Relationship counseling? Or do you just want to understand the nightmares, and by understanding, perhaps cause them to cease?"   
Scully let out a lungful of air as Amend's words hit her in the face. She'd never considered pre-grief counseling, but at that moment it seemed that it the reason they were there after all. Scully held out hope that Mulder might find a cure, that her beloved science might find a way to make the invisible monster in her head die a quick, silent death. But she was also a pragmatic realist; she knew that the very real chance existed that she would be dead within 12 months. And knowing what her death would do to Mulder had been on her mind for weeks. Perhaps that what they needed more than anything; an outside professional helping them prepare for what might come.   
"I don't know about relationship counseling," she said slowly, "But pre-grief and the dreams are right on the money."   
Mulder looked over at her, a pained expression on his face. She knew he hated it when she spoke of her death in any context. "Mulder," she said urgently, "if we're going to do this right, we have to be honest. We agreed. There is a real chance that I will die." He nodded and looked away. "So, then...we can safely say that there are no romantic feelings between the two of you?"   
Again, silence.  
Finally, Mulder spoke.   
"No."   
His voice was quiet, soft, almost gentle, Scully thought, as if he was seeking to minimize the impact of his words. Nevertheless, she felt them in her gut, a mental punch that left her winded. Several thoughts entered her mind at the same time, the first being that he was lying, lying through his teeth. It was part ego, she knew, that she wouldn't allow herself to entertain the thought that Mulder have never thought of her that way, that he'd never considered her in that manner. And she also remembered the words to Jeanie on the phone, words that Scully knew Mulder knew she had heard. `It's not like I haven't thought about it,' he'd said.  
So was he saying that he'd thought about it and found her wanting? That he'd thought about it but didn't anymore? That there was something...wrong with her? Was it the cancer? Was it the fact that she was dying and he wouldn't allow himself to feel those feelings for her because one day, one day soon she would be gone?  
Scully shook her head, trying to force the thoughts from her mind. That left one thing, she knew. Mulder did have those feelings for her, had them in spades, and was trying his best not to inject them into this situation. That he was doing everything he could to minimize his own impact on things. That thought made Scully by turns angry, then sad.   
"Scully?" Jeanie asked.   
"No," Scully choked out, unable to meet the doctor's eyes. Jeanie Amend, MD glanced at her two newest patients and tried very hard not to shake her head. Honesty was at the core of any positive therapeutic relationship, and it was more than obvious to her that her two patients were not being honest with her, with each other, and most of all, with themselves. It was clear to her how much they meant to each other, how they easily occupied each other's personal space.  
"Mulder, would you excuse us for a moment? I'd like to have a word with Dana in private."   
Stunned, Mulder nodded and stood. He walked around the side of the chair away from Scully and made his way to the doors. Scully remained where she sat, her legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap.  
"Can I call you Dana?" Amend asked.   
Scully nodded.  
"It's a beautiful name," Amend added.   
Again Scully said nothing, only nodding in response. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman," Amend prodded, hoping for some reaction. Getting none, she tried one last tactic. "Does it bother you that he doesn't notice?"   
Scully laughed, a harsh bark in the quiet office. "He notices," she said quickly, hating herself for falling into such an obvious trap.  
"Oh? How do you know?"  
Scully fixed Amend with her interrogator's gaze, an expression that she had perfected over the last few years, a set of her face that told the watcher that Scully could read their mind, that she wouldn't brook any bullshit.   
"I know," she said simply. "I know all I need to."  
Amend nodded, leaning back in her chair, bringing her own hands into her lap. "I see. As I'm sure you've noticed that Mulder is a handsome man."   
Scully felt her insides twisting at Amend's words. No one had ever said it exactly that way to her. `Handsome man.' That was an understatement; Mulder was... "Gorgeous," she said softly. She felt rather than saw Amend's surprise.   
"Yes, some women might say that. Me? I think his nose is too big, but that's me."  
"His nose is perfect," Scully said, and meant it. Amend nodded at this.   
"So, it's safe to say that you lied when Mulder is in the room. About your romantic feelings, or lack thereof?"  
Scully sighed, trying to find a way to make Amend understand. It wasn't as simple as whether or not she had feelings for him or he did for her. It was so much more complicated than that. Much more complicated.   
"It's just not that easy, Jeanie," Scully complained. "Sure, I've thought about it. Who wouldn't? But our jobs...our lives...it's just so complicated!" Amend nodded, making a note on her pad.  
"Is it?" she asked. "That complicated, I mean."  
Scully stood and began pacing. "Mulder...my feelings for him are very complicated. He's my partner. My best friend. We've been through things, seen things, done things...no one should have to live what we've lived for the past few years. There's so much baggage in the way of anything like...romance ever happening that it's not even funny."   
Now we're getting somewhere, Amend thought. "Give me an example." Scully stopped pacing and turned to face Amend.  
"An example? You want an example? My sister. There's a great example. One of our investigations uncovered...well, I can't go into that. It's classified." She saw the look on Amend's face and held up a hand. "Believe me, doctor, I understand all about patient-doctor confidentiality. But this is classified. All I can tell you is that some very powerful men got scared, threatened by what Mulder and I were investigating and decided to have me killed. Only they got my sister instead." She stopped, remembering, the pain in her heart fresh and new again, a knife to her soul. "My beautiful big sister Melissa, shot dead in my apartment, in my place, a bullet meant for me in her head." She stopped, her hands dropping to her sides. "Now...I've tried as hard as I could not to blame Mulder for it, not to make him blame himself for it. But that will always be between him and me, understand? No matter how I feel about him, we can't do anything about it! That's just one of the...dozens of things that are between us."   
"Yet, you still consider him your best friend."   
Scully sighed deeply. Amend just didn't understand. "Yes, because he is. He my best friend. There is no one I trust more than Mulder. Not my mother, not my brothers, not my boss."  
"Do you blame him?"   
Scully had her answer ready. "No. Abstractly, I'm sure that some part of me does, and that's part of the problem. Mulder is..."  
"Spooky," Amend furnished, a smile teasing her face.   
Scully nodded. "Yes. Spooky. He can...sense things that most other people...most other never could. He knows that in some way, I do blame him, and he has this huge capacity for guilt. I'm not sure how close you were to him when you were in VICAP together..."  
Just how close are you? Scully thought.  
"...but he has this really annoying ability to take the weight of the world on his shoulders, this desire to be blamed by everyone around him for that goes wrong in their lives. Whether or not he is actually responsible." Amend nodded. She knew this.   
Anyone who knew Mulder for more than a week was aware of it.   
"Do you hold him responsible?"   
"No. Our jobs...what we do, which is sometimes so much more than just a job or a career...what Mulder and I do is dangerous. More dangerous than your average FBI agent chasing bank robbers or white-collar criminals or drug dealers. We chase the truth, Dr. Amend. The truth is our target, and we search in places that no one is meant to go, see things that no one is supposed to see."   
"Truth, Justice and the American Way?"   
Amend asked, not unkindly. Scully spun on her, hands on hips. "Yes. As trite as it sounds, we both believe in...all that stuff. We believe in the basic goodness of this country, the basic belief that justice will prevail and those that do dark, dirty deeds will be brought into the light of justice and will pay for their crimes."   
Amend made another note. "If you don't mind my saying, that sounds suspiciously like a very deep rationalization."  
"Be that as it ," Scully said, "the fact remains that Mulder and I have...feelings for each other, as you've noticed. He and I have both noticed. But by unspoken agreement, by mutual understanding, we've decided to do nothing about it." Scully moved to her seat and sat. "Don't you understand? My sister...the fact that they killed her and ...it was just another way for them to prove to us that they can get to us anytime they want. If he and I...if Mulder and I were ever in a relationship...they would be able to get to us through the other."   
Amend smiled and nodded. "I understand, Dana. Believe me, I do. Just let me finish making a note here." Amend took the opportunity to write something in an illegible scrawl, taking the time to formulate her next question. She felt bad for the two agents, felt bad because their feelings for each other ran so much more deeply than either one of the suspected. That much was plainly obvious to any outside observer. "Can I ask a rather disjointed question?"   
"Of course."  
"At work...are there rumors?"  
"Rumors? About what?"   
Amend smiled. "About you and Mulder."   
Scully laughed. "Of course. I'm known as Mrs. Spooky."   
Amend grinned. "That's cute. Now...what upsets you more. The fact that the rumors exist? Or the fact that they aren't true and people are assuming a level of involvement existing that doesn't?"  
Scully stopped, thinking about it. "I'm not sure," she said honestly.   
Amend nodded. "Ok...that's fair. At least that's honest." Seeing the look on her patient's face, Amend hurried to explain. "I'm not saying you're being dishonest with me, Dana. Just with yourself, and with Mulder."  
"I've never lied to him," Scully claimed. "I know. But you've not told him everything, and that's the same thing."   
"To who?"  
The answer was simplicity itself. "To Mulder."   
Scully was stunned. She sat back, her legs spread, her mind going into a thousand different directions at once. "But...but..."   
"Let's hold off on that for a moment. Tell me what you value about Mulder above all else. What is his one...trait, or feature, or characteristic that you treasure?"   
Scully didn't hesitate. "His passion."   
"For?"   
"His work. The truth. His search for Samantha. For what's right. What's just."   
"Next?"   
"Compassion."  
"After that?"   
"His honesty."   
Amend nodded again. "Ok...let's look at that. You've all but agreed that it's not being one-hundred-percent honest to not tell Mulder everything, correct?"   
Scully shook her head. "It's semantics, but I'll agree for the purposes of the discussion."  
"Fine. Now, assuming for the moment that Mulder his similar, if not exactly the same, feelings for you, and isn't telling you...wouldn't that cause some resentment on your part? Knowing that he's not being completely honest?"   
"I hardly see what..."   
And then she did. Scully saw what Amend was getting at and felt herself pale. Could it be that Jeanie was right? That she, Dana Scully, MD, FBI, was pushing Mulder away? Angry at him for not being honest with her about his feelings? They were both so scared, she knew. So scared of coming out and admitting the truth.   
"I wish to make an observation at this time," Amend announced.  
"I'm listening."  
"Before I do, please go and get Mulder."   
On shaky legs, Scully stood and made her way to the doors, opening them wide. Mulder was sitting about ten feet away, thumbing through an issue of People. "We're ready for you," Scully said softly. He glanced up at her and their eyes locked. Mulder stood and walked to Scully.   
"Scully?"   
She was staring at his chest. He used a finger to lift her chin.  
"Dana?"  
"Come in, sit down," Amend called. "We have a lot of work to do."   
Mulder turned Scully around and used a hand at the small of her back to guide her into the office again. Scully closed her eyes and tried to suppress a soft moan; his hand felt so perfect there, so right. They retook their seats.  
"Ok," Amend said, finishing her notes. "Fasten your seatbelts, kids."   
Mulder glanced at Scully, a question on his face.   
"Play time is over," Amend continued. She glanced at both agents, stood, walked to the door, and locked it. She removed the key and held it up for both of them to see, and then walked back to her desk. Moving carefully, slowly, so both agents could watch, Dr. Jeanie Amend, MD, carefully hid the key in her bra.  
"The bullshit," she said softly, "is going to stop  
***  
Scully gasped. Mulder bristled.  
"What the hell does that mean?"  
"Shut up," Jeanie said softly.   
Mulder blinked, not sure he'd heard correctly. "Excuse me?"  
"I said shut up, Mulder. Too many of my contemporaries think that the only positive therapy is that which is generated by the patient. Passive therapy, in other words. We sit, listen and ask questions, and through that method, the patient is supposed to discover all these wonderful insights to themselves and their psyches." Amend paused, cracking her knuckles. "Well, I don't agree. To me, that's coddling bullshit. For some patients, that might be fine. That might be what they need. What you two need, however, is not soft, gentle coddling. You two," she said, "need a kick in the ass. That's all."  
Mulder shifted on his chair, biting his bottom lip. Scully moved closer to him. "The problem with you two is obvious. We've been in here less than half an hour, and even I can tell what the real problem is. Anyone who has known you at that long can see what I do." Amend looked first at Mulder, and then at Scully. "You two are so obviously head over heels in love with each other it's not even funny. But you're both afraid. Afraid of your feelings, and afraid of each other. Afraid that you'll be rejected. Afraid that the other doesn't feel the same way. Afraid that someone, somewhere, will find a way to use your love against each other." Amend reached down and opened the bottom drawer of her desk. "I made a few calls over to the Bureau, Mulder. I still have some low friends in high places. They gave me..." She lifted two huge, fat files from the drawer and let them slap against her desk. "These..." she finished. "This one is Scully's file. This one is yours, Mulder. Your complete, unabridged, totally classified and confidential 201 files."   
Both agents gasped.   
"That's right. Your top-secret personnel files. Memos about you, by you, from you, to you. Reviews. Medical records. Case histories. Cases solved, investigated, turned over to other agencies. Every single thing the FBI officially knows about you from day number one." Amend grinned. "I've read it all, the two of you. And I've talked to a few people since yesterday."  
Mulder stood, his voice shaking. "I don't know what you were thinking, Jeanie, but-"  
"Sit down."  
Mulder stopped, and then slowly turned to face his partner.   
"What?" he asked.   
"You heard me, Mulder. Sit down."  
"But she-"  
"Shut up and SIT DOWN!" Scully screamed.   
Mulder quickly retook his seat.   
"As I said, I've read it all," Amend continued. "I'm sure that Dana doesn't know that you tried to have her transferred four times in the last two years."   
"WHAT?!" Scully turned to face her partner. "You did WHAT?"  
"Scully, I can explain," Mulder said, holding up his hands. Mildly, Amend continued.   
"Or that Dana has asked for transfer twice herself."   
Mulder's eyebrows rose. "Oh, really?"   
Scully backed down, thinking a silent oath about Mulder's choice of therapists.   
"Would you like to know the reason?" Amend asked.   
"Dr. Amend!" Scully objected. "Now it's your turn, Dana. Shut up."  
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I would like to know the reason," Mulder said quietly.   
Amend opened Scully's file and began to read. "'It is my personal and professional judgment that circumstances have arisen that make it impossible for me to continue on in my current capacity as Special Agent Mulder's partner.'"  
"Well, that says a lot of nothing," Mulder complained. Scully fumed. If he only knew why-   
"Well, maybe so," Amend interjected, "but there are some interesting notes from AD Skinner attached to this."  
Both partners exchanged another glance.  
"It is Mr. Skinner's personal opinion that there has not existed, does not exist, nor will there ever exist, and I quote, `...a better-suited pair of agents. Their unique personal relationship consists more of what is not spoken about than anything any FBI training course could ever teach. It is my opinion at this time that to separate these two agents would be a huge disservice to the agents themselves, to the FBI and to the country. Request denied.'" Amend closed the folder. "Listen to me, you two. Each of you has tried to get rid of the other, and for the same exact reason. And each time, six times in the last two years, Skinner has refused to transfer either one of you, probably because he realizes the same thing that I do.  
"You two love each other, and are in fact head-over-heels in love with each other. And it's not the...infatuation-based physical lust that marks most modern relationships. Each of you is so scared that the other doesn't love them that you're been paralyzed by fear. And that stops here. Now. Today. This session is all but over, and when you come back here next week-" She saw the look on their faces. "Oh, yes...you will be coming back here next week. And the week after that. Until I am satisfied that the both of you have somehow managed to yank your heads out of your asses and admit what the rest of the world knows. That the both of you not only belong together, but that by forcing yourselves to stay apart in the name of protecting each other, in the name of not providing your enemies with an opening, in the name of Bureau policies that you are doing what those enemies want. You're distracting yourselves from the real issues by being so goddamned preoccupied with each other. "Accept it, you two. Embrace it, for cryin' out loud! I have never seen two people who should be together as much as you do! Skinner knows it, you know it, and those nameless, faceless men know it too! Together, really, truly together, the two of you would be the most incredible team the world has ever seen. The FBI, in the persona of Assistant Director Walter F. Skinner have been waiting for this to happen for nine years!"  
"What?" Scully asked.   
"Another memo, this one from Skinner to someone else. I quote: `I agree with your concerns that the obvious deeply personal nature of Agent Scully and Agent Mulder's relationship might cause a problem with some agents. But these are two highly intelligent, highly motivated agents, two agents who are able to accomplish more in less time than any team I have ever supervised, worked with or heard about. Anything that the Bureau can do to encourage further development of this relationship should be considered before and above anything designed to destroy or curtail the relationship.'" Amend closed the folder again. "Get out of here. Go home. Talk. Spend the night together. Get it all out. And I'll see you back here next week."   
The two agents stood on shaky, nervous legs and turned to leave without saying a   
  
Apartment of Dana Scully & Fox Mulder  
Annapolis, Maryland Saturday, 1430 Hours   
  
They had been completely quiet the entire way home. Neither had spoken a word, each of them shocked into silence. Mulder's mind was filled with dire plans for Jeanie Amend, MD. He was so incredibly angry at her he couldn't believe it. She was a friend! his mind had screamed. A friend that he had trusted. Yes, not as much as he trusted Scully, but the trust had been there.   
Had been.   
Scully had been just as quiet, but for a different reason. A kind of peace had settled over her. She realized that Amend was right, that she did love Mulder, and was in love with him as well, and it had only been fear that had kept her from saying or doing anything about it. Fear that he would not feel the same way, fear that it would some how change their relationship for the worse, that it would somehow degrade their performance. That it would ruin their friendship.  
They parked at Scully's apartment building and walked inside, still saying nothing. Once inside the apartment, Scully moved to the kitchen to fix some lunch. Mulder flopped down on the couch, lost in his thoughts. His anger at Jeanie had not abated, and he took the time to focus on that anger, to dwell on it to the exclusion of any other thought of emotion.  
To think of anything else was dangerous. Mulder stood and walked to the kitchen. Scully was fixing turkey sandwiches.  
"We can get another therapist," he said softly. "If you still want to go, that is."  
Scully felt the lump in her throat and tried to swallow it. "Are you saying that she was wrong?" she asked quietly.   
"That's not the point!" Mulder said. "She violated the patient-doctor trust. She violated our privacy! She-"   
Scully spun on him. "Was she right?"  
"Scully-"  
"Answer me, Mulder! Was she RIGHT?!"  
Mulder looked at his feet. "Yes."  
Scully sighed. "Say it, Mulder."   
"Jeanie was right."   
Scully put down the turkey slices she'd been holding and walked to her partner, her friend. Her love. "Listen," she said softly. "I'm not going to force myself on you. I want you. I want to be with you. I want to make love with you, Mulder. Our doctor has all but given her permission, and Skinner seems to think it would be a good idea, too."  
"Doctor's orders, huh?" Mulder asked, a smile on his face.  
"Mulder...I'm dying." Mulder flinched at her words, turning his face away. She reached over and grasped his chin with her fingers, turning him back to face her. "I'm dying, Mulder. And I...don't want to die without having told you, shown you, how much I love you. How much I am in love with you, you nut."  
"Nut?"  
"Yes, nut. You're a crazy person! We both know that. But, God help me, I love you. But I'm not going to force myself on you, and I don't want you to sleep with me because you think you owe it to me, because you're granting the poor little dying girls' last, fondest wish. I want you to come to my bed because you want to, because you want to be there, because you want to be with me in every single way that a man and a woman can be together. I want you to want ME, Mulder. Dana Scully. Your partner, your best friend, the woman who loves you more than she should. More than I thought I could ever love another person."  
"I wanted it to be..." Mulder started, looking, searching for the words. "Perfect," he finished.   
Scully shook her head. "I don't need flowers, Mulder. Not candy, not roses, not fancy dinners or tickets to the ballet. You know me; I'm a pizza, beer and rental movie kind of girl. All I need is...you. All I need is to know that you want me, that you want to be here with me."   
"Of course I want you, Scully." She smiled.  
"But you're scared. Scared of what getting involved with me will mean."   
He nodded. "Yes."   
She tugged on his chin. "Mulder...you're a guilt machine. Don't you know by now that I want this as much as you do? More, maybe?" I find that hard to believe, Mulder thought  
"Scully..."  
"Kiss me, Mulder," she said suddenly. "Kiss me right here and right now. And if after you kiss me, you tell me you don't want to be with me, I'll understand."  
"But-"  
"Kiss me, Mulder."  
Mulder's hand came up and found her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. His other hand slowly joined his first, framing her face. His head descended towards hers, his eyes drooping closed. They kissed.  
Scully pulled away and looked at Mulder, her eyes shining brightly. " Do you have anything to say?" she asked, her heart clenching.   
" Yeah, I do Scully." He said matter-of-factly. Scully's eyes filled with tears. " I'm staying." He whispered. Scully felt her heart would burst. She wrapped her arms around Mulder's neck and looked him in the eyes.   
" I was hoping you'd say that." She said softly. Mulder smiled and leaned down for another kiss.  
  
  



End file.
